


On the Run

by OneDarkWindow



Series: JearminWeek 2018 [3]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-08
Updated: 2018-04-08
Packaged: 2019-04-20 00:44:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14249406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneDarkWindow/pseuds/OneDarkWindow
Summary: Armin Arlert loves his job as an archaeologist. He spends the better parts of his days taking measurements, analyzing data, and soaking in the near constant rain of British autumn. One particular foggy day, a chance encounter with supernatural elements and a desperately fleeing man (Jean) leaves him questioning everything he'd known of the world and crashing into a modern conflict with a Faerie King. It will take careful maneuvering and the unexpected cooperation from his flatmate Eren to to claim victory from the jaws of almost certain defeat at the hands of a power far greater than anything Armin had ever known. How far would he be willing to go to rescue Jean, and what does it really mean to give up humanity and surrender your heart?Chaptered Fic/Fantasy/Certain to have Unplanned Surprises





	On the Run

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea what I'm doing. 
> 
> This fic is for JearminWeek2018 hosted by TheJearminCollective on tumblr; the prompt was "Fantasy". 
> 
> If this fic is any good at all, I'll continue it. Otherwise it's an exercise in pure madness.

#  Chapter 1

 

It was foggy, as bloody usual, and Armin wrangled the unwieldy trolley cart that carried his GPR unit up and over the lumpy sod, pushing it’s wheels along a circuit he’d been measuring all day. Ground Penetrating Radar was a new thing in the Archaeological world, and the discovery of another massive subterranean megalithic monument within the greater Stonehenge complex (which is far larger than merely it’s landmark stone circle) had more than excited the gilded pockets of patrons hoping to know more about their ancient past. Unfortunately, that now meant that every inch above ground and meters below the surface needed to be measured and analyzed, in so much that it was likely Armin would have job security the rest of his life if he stuck with this particular partnership of schools. Gathering data, sorting and mapping, visualizing what others could not with a near encyclopedic knowledge of the sorts of things discovered at these sites was his bread and butter. However, trying to squeeze history from the landscape intriguing enough to garner the protective care of the English Heritage was not entirely what he’d hoped his career might be. 

 

It was a lot of walking, though, and copious time outdoors breathing in the English country air. It was a solitude he enjoyed, at least on days when his mind didn’t wander to the potential calamities that could befall a man on his own in the country at night. He was less concerned about the errant tourist or treasure hunter and more concerned about the physicality of crushing himself beneath his radar and being unable to reach his vehicle parked leagues off at the visitor’s center. Or perhaps he might discover a burial tomb by falling directly into it. Or perhaps the wind might blow hard enough to knock over a tree, which would miss him...but strike an otherwise perfectly sensible stone monolith inspiring it to fall and finish his career rather abruptly. Fortunately today, there were only instructions to take readings of this open field, the thick fog that said field disappeared into, and his troubled thoughts.    
  
Professor Smith was entirely convinced that Armin’s readings had been off as a result of his equipment, that no one else had managed to locate the earthen landscapes he had, and so he had been relegated to this open field to take base readings. If it was his machine, fair enough. But that’s never the chatter that circulates in the mill of rumour; he had to have been sensationalizing his finds. Smith knew better, knew that Armin was as solid an archaeologist as could be found in a fluorescent anorak or tweed...depending on the day...in the whole of England. One of his brightest minds, and yet...his data continued to deviate whenever he crossed into the cursus area of the complex. It was a strange thing, this long, carved track that shot straight as an arrow until it curved into…? Nothing. Field. The mystery surrounding the ancient purpose of the cursus lent itself to many theories, but not even the hard chalk was carved into would produce the sort of images Armin would produce with his GPR. At times, there would seem to be a walking line of people...as though made of stone and buried upright, running the entire length of the cursus. Other times, there would be hollow pockets, random voids in the earth. No one was ever able to duplicate his data, and Armin felt like a liar.    
  
He pushed the trolley along, eyes scanning the radar readings for anomalies, listening for anything really. He’d brought earbuds with him, but woe be to him if anyone caught him doing anything other than regulatory fieldwork today. His audiobook and his Nightwish would have to wait. He’d been mesmerized by the screen, watching it as he pushed and slipped his way through the wet grass, not noticing that darkness was creeping upon him. He flipped on the torch in his pocket, determined to finish this last row before he called it an evening. No sooner had he done so, that he was startled by the sound of hoofbeats, and many of them. Somewhere beyond the fog, out of his view, he imagined what must have been a hunting party of at least several horses...and by the sounds of the shouting that accompanied it, riders as well.    
  
Obviously, this was unacceptable. He was allowed to be there, but certainly these riders were trespassing and would likely tear up the turf he had to measure tomorrow.    
  
“Hey!” He called out, his voice hollow and without conviction. They could simply run him down and leave him a small blonde artifact to be discovered in the morning, and he had no serviceable weapons. No response came, but the party on the other side of the fog seemed to react. They stood still for a moment, and Armin was certain he was being sized up through the blanket of mist between them. A breeze blew, throwing off his hood and wetting his face as though mud had been cast along with it, but no figure appeared. Then, a holler and a horn sent the hunting party hurtling away from Armin, moving more swiftly than he thought possible. After a few seconds, the jingle of their barding and the thudding of their hoofbeats vanished as quickly as they appeared.    
  
He stood alone, a thin blonde man shining his torchlight into the wall of fog surrounding him like a beacon of light in soupy darkness. He shook his head, unable to parse what he had witnessed with his disbelief in ghosts. He decided that perhaps he should take a quick ride around the area just to see if he could locate or photograph the interlopers who would undoubtedly tear up the fields. He dragged his cart back to his car, using his full strength to leverage it into the hatchback with the seats folded down. There was enough room left for himself, his massive briefcase, and the tangible confusion that had settled on him with regard to his late night hunting party. Just to be on the safe side, he rang up his friend Eren to let him know what he was up to.    
  
“I’ll be late back tonight,” Armin said, hardly waiting for Eren to say his hellos. They’d been friends since primary school, and chose to remain flatmates for the duration of their single lives. He heard Eren swallow, having answered the phone through a thick bite of sandwich.    
  
“You goin to the pub, then?” his flatmate’s voice spoke too loudly into his cell.    
  
“Dunno yet. There’s been some sort of trespass here at the site and I had an encounter with them, but they’ve flown off somewhere and I’m going to call the police if I find them again.” Armin explained.    
  
“Encounter?” Eren was suddenly concerned. Encounters with Armin and unknowns usually ended with injuries. His friend was no fighter.    
  
“Ehhm...it’s difficult to explain. I’m not hurt, I just…” His eyes flicked up, having seen motion in the rearview mirror. He caught his reflection then, and gasped  at the small drops of blood on his face. His hand flew to his pockets, fumbling around for a handkerchief or napkin.    
  
“You just what?” Eren waited.    
  
“I didn’t see them. I only..heard them...I might be bleeding though please hold a moment,” Armin flipped on the visor light and inspected his face. He dabbed the blood away, small dried moons remained behind to show they’d been there, but there was no wound to be found. He remembered then, the spray in the wind, and shuddered to realize that he’d been wetted with what appeared to be blood.    
  
“You MIGHT be?” Eren yelled. “Armin, you should leave a tip for the police and just begone. I’ll meet you at the pub and if it still bothers you, we can go back.”    
  
Armin could not respond, his mind adjusting to the reality of what had transpired. Was it a threat? Was this intentional? Was this real? He saw nothing in the mirror behind his car, just a cozy blanket of fog and damp. It had to be mud, or perhaps they’d taken a fox or something else infuriatingly deserving of the life they’d taken from it.    
  
“Armin!” Eren was already putting on his boots.    
  
“I’m here, it’s ok. I’m not hurt, I’m just confused. And angry.”    
  
“Angry??”    
  
“I think they were hunters, and they’ve no right to be out here.”   
  
“If they’re hunters then they have weapons and you’re alone.” Eren pointed out.    
  
Armin’s car rocked suddenly, and he dropped his phone to the floor from the force. An undignified yell escaped his throat. He could hear Eren yelling from the floor, obscenities and demands peppering the air. The passengers side window was covered by the body of a tall man, also spattered with blood and trembling.  Armin held his torch at the ready, as though he could use it effectively as a club. 

 

“Help me!! Please, you’ve got to get me out of here! They’ll find me out here any second now!” The man had sharp features that might have appeared handsome in the right light had he not been cupping his hands to the window in wide eyed terror, pleading with Armin to let him in. Armin could only stare a moment, certain that this was how his boring life was about to end. Some serial killer found him in his car and Armin was too kind to leave him. The man’s eyes were a hawklike golden brown and flashed in the dark, or so Armin’s mind perceived. He sighed, resigned a bit to his fate and also slightly drawn by the appeal of having another to gripe about the bloodstain removal that would follow, and reached over to push the door open. The tall man seemed visibly relieved for a moment as he slid into the passenger’s seat and pulled the door in smartly behind him, slamming down the lock. He turned to Armin and commanded. “Drive.”    
  
“You what?” Armin stammered, but fumbled the key into the ignition, now certain that he would instead die as a getaway driver.   
  
“Drive!! Get us out of here!” The man’s voice was strained, and he sunk lower in the seat so as not to be seen as easily. His golden bracelets tapped against the sides of Armin’s gearbox, and the archaeologist was intrigued and concerned. A grave robber? But gold artifacts were precious and, more importantly, rare here. Something was off, but Armin was now struck with the feeling a rabbit being spotted by a wolf might know; that same feeling of being sized up he’d encountered earlier. It was enough to spur him to act.    
  
Eren’s voice still muffled from the floor agitated its way to Armin’s ears, who threw the car in reverse and peeled out, leaving a satisfying spray of mud behind him with only the smallest hint of guilt for tearing up the turf.    
  
“How fast can this tin can go? You’ve got to do at least 80 or they’ll catch us…” The man peeked his head up just enough to glance in the rearview. He seemed to be favoring his right arm, and his temple glistened with blood as though he’d been struck there.    
  
“Right. I’m nearly to the highway,” Armin tried to keep calm, and his voice even. He’d much rather be shrieking in terror, but the novelty of this stranger in his car with his injuries and adornments and...he realized...unusual clothing...kept him numb enough to be rational. There was nothing rational about tonight, though, he realized.    
  
“Not soon enough!” The man reached over and wrenched the wheel hard to the right, just in time to dodge what Armin recognized as an enormous black horse and the shadow of a rider he could not see. Screeching tires and driver and black smoke took them off the road and through a field toward the A303, ignoring any and all barriers and property fences along the way as Armin struggled to regain control of the wheel. Empty coffee and tea cups snowed around them as the radar cart bumped gracelessly from side to side in the back. The cell phone containing Eren’s still audible complaints bounced up from the floor and back into Armin’s lap.    
  
“Eren I’m sorry I’ll call you back!!!” Armin said, ending the call before the they careened onto the expressway, confusing some sheep and dragging a shrubbery behind them. Armin pushed the pedal to the floor, pushing his little car as fast as he could get it to go, adrenaline pumping in his ears and thankfully not his bladder pumping onto the floor.    
  
Armin was breathing heavily, certain that his car had suffered several dents during their escapade. “Don’t you EVER grab the wheel while I am driving! Do you have ANY idea of how dangerous--” and he stopped, the fire steamed out of his voice when he realized that this tall man was hiding his face in the crook of his elbow to cry.    
  
“I’m sorry…” the man said. His disheveled ash-blonde hair was swept messily about over his darker undercut. “I’ve involved you in this thing and I’m so sorry...I just...I didn’t have a choice.”    
  
“Thing? What thing?” Armin said, gripping the wheel and adjusting to the flow of normal traffic.    
  
“They’re looking for me, and they’ll keep looking for me...they’ve seen you now and they know your car and...I’m so sorry…” and then he was lost to sobs. Armin knew, both by the gooseflesh on his neck and the sense of impending doom that had circled back around to him, that he was in trouble.    
  
“What’s your name?” He asked, trying to change the mood with some small talk. The only person he’d ever seen openly cry this way was his grandfather when both his parents had died.    
  
“Jean,” he sniffled, wiping his nose on his sleeve.    
  
“I think you’re bleeding, Jean,” Armin said, the adrenaline starting to leave him now. As though he were made of paper.

 

“I am, yeah. It’s nothing, though,” Jean reached up and flipped down the sunvisor to inspect his head wound. “Head wounds bleed a lot…” When he wasn’t yelling, Armin noticed a soft dialect around the way Jean shaped his words. One he didn’t quite recognize.    
  
Armin stayed quiet, wondering how to approach the barrage of questions and blame and rage he had brewing in his mouth, on the tip of his tongue.    
  
“You’re angry,” he stated.    
  
“Quite.” 

 

“Right.” Jean focused his attention out the window. Some time passed, the two of them driving through one town, then the next before Armin was overcome with curiosity.    
  
“What were you doing out there?” he broke the silence, pushing his blonde bangs out of his face. The fog was lessened here, but it was still dark now and damp besides.    
  
“Running from them,” Jean explained, as though it clarified.    
  
“Running from who? I didn’t see you out there...nor anyone until that illegal hunting party came along.”   
  
“They’d be who I’m running from,” Jean sighed.    
  
“Believe it or not, I caught that. But I don’t know who *they* are, and I didn’t have time to call the police as I had intended to report them.” Armin explained.    
  
“The Hunt...they don’t answer to the police. Nor any laws of humankind,” Jean said, his voice thin.    
  
“Nonsense. They’ll answer to my boss at the very least when he finds they’ve been mucking up our sites,” Armin imagined Dr. Erwin Smith, a tall handsome man, barking down some horses and riders for trampling through private property, and it gave him a moment of amusement. It suited Smith.   
  
“No...you don’t understand…” Jean sat upright in his seat at last. Armin realized that he was very tall. “I’m sorry, what are you called?”    
  
“I’m ‘called’ Armin. I’m an archaeologist, and I was actually doing my job before you crashed into my car,” He kept his eyes on the road.    
  
“Ah, I thought so. With your little cart thing and all...you saw Them, didn’t you?” 

 

“...Not...at first...but when you took the wheel, I saw something. A horse. A rider maybe. It was hard to see.” 

 

Jean’s expression softened. “If you can see them, then maybe we have a chance afterall…it isn’t often that humans can see what we don’t mean them to...”   
  
“Jean this is starting to sound supernatural, and I’m not sure I can entertain this sort of talk without a pint in me.” Armin was done with the tourists hunting ghosts in the park at hours of the night they had no business being there, leaving garbage all over the place and no convincing data to show for their efforts. Hogwash.    
  
“A pint sounds fantastic,” Jean sighed and rubbed his face with his hand, running his fingers back through his wild mousy hair.. “Where do we live?”    
  
Armin nearly slammed the car to a halt on the freeway, but instead he pulled to the side of the road and waited.    
  
“*I* live near Oxford, with my flatmate. I do not know where you live,” Armin looked over at him, considering the stranger next to him, seeing him for the first time. He was more handsome indeed now that the terror was gone from his face. Well muscled frame, with a face that begged for some sort of mischief to thrive upon.    
  
“...Presumptuous of me, I apologize. But you must believe me when I say that we will be better off sticking this out together. Oxford might just be far enough out of range that we’d be safe. Here? We aren’t yet. If you bring me with you...to meet your friend and all...I can explain everything.” His eyes were pleading now. “Please.”    
  
“I will take you to a pub, where we can meet my mate, and you can explain everything. And if I decide that you aren’t feeding me a pile of bollocks, Eren and I may let you stay the night to get cleaned up at least.”   
  
“One night?”   
  
“I can’t promise anything until I speak with Eren.”    
  
“Right…” Jean was quiet. “I understand.”    
  
“There are a good number of Inns with vacancies nearby,” Armin offered, slowly guiding his car back to the road, pleased to have a plan. 

 

“I’m afraid I’ve no way to access any of my things at the moment, rendering me officially penniless until I can get word home to my mother.” Jean’s voice was strange. Armin handed him his cell phone.    
  
“Go ahead and call her, in exchange, I’ll need you to text Eren for me. Just say ‘pub’.”   
  
“I’ll text him. And call her when we get to the pub. We’re still too close,” Jean explained, punching buttons on Armin’s phone. For some reason, whatever wild part of Armin’s imagination was throwing a party was suddenly silenced when the strange man who showed up out of nowhere in weird clothes and jewelry seemed to be able to use a cell phone without any trouble. 

 

“Hey ma, it’s me,” Jean said quietly. “Yeah, I know I shouldn’t have. Please don’t cry...ma...I’ll figure it out. No, I’m not letting him treat you that way ever again. I don’t care who he his; if he can’t take responsibility he’s no one. I’ll call later...ma it’s fine...I’ll call later I can’t talk about that right now. Right. I’m hanging up now. ……...love you too…..” Jean clicked the phone off.   
  
They could not reach the pub fast enough for Armin, and when they finally did Jean was acting like a wary cat the moment he left the car. He slunk along the side of the car and sprinted to the exterior wall and looked around before sliding to the entrance. He took a deep breath and crossed the threshold. Armin raised an eyebrow at his unusual new friend and followed suit. He spotted Eren at a table in the corner, nursing his second lager and shaking his leg under the table nervously. Eren was taller than Armin, but shorter than Jean, possessing bronze skin, piercing green eyes and a mop of chocolate brown hair. He visibly relaxed when Armin walked in and nudged a taller man toward Eren’s table.    
  
Armin watched Eren’s apprehension melt from him and instantly fly back into place as he guided Jean to sit with him.    
  
“Eren! Thank you for waiting--”   
  
“You worried the everloving fuck out of me, you know that?!” Eren said, louder than he probably should have. Eyes fixed on the group, and Jean sunk lower in his chair beneath their gaze. He was a sight, afterall.    
  
“Well we’re alright, and safely here with you now,” Armin soothed, holding his hands up in surrender”   
  
“Yeah, that’s great. Who’s this?”    
  
“I’m Jean.” Jean offered a handshake, meeting Eren’s eyes. A moment passed between them before Eren shook it.    
  
“Eren,” Eren replied.    
  
“I gathered. I could hear you from his phone, so I recognized your voice,” Jean shrugged. The corner of Eren’s mouth twitched in irritation. “Well, you are very loud.”    
  
“I think I have PLENTY of reason to be loud! I thought Armin here had been assaulted by a gang of assholes. Turns out it might have just been ONE asshole,” Eren glared. Armin sighed. Eren never took criticism well, even if he learned from it.    
  
“Funny you mention that, actually it was one asshole and his guard, of which there are many,” Jean began tearing at a paper sugar packet on the table.    
  
“Oh. Good. You pissed off the mafia? Armin this is easily the worst decision you’ve made.” Eren signaled to the server that he required another beer. Armin raised his hand to indicate they needed three.    
  
“It’s not the mafia,” Jean laughed without joy. “The mafia would be easier to deal with. Unfortunately we’re dealing with one of the Kings of Faerie and his host. They don’t play by human rules.”    
  
Eren and Armin froze, and exchanged looks. Eren didn’t have to say a word out loud: Armin felt the word “lunatic” on the tip of his tongue. Armin didn’t know what to think about this new information, but there was no lie in Jean’s eyes. He was legitimately afraid, and in some small dark closet of his childhood memories, Armin pieced Jean’s jewelry together with otherworldly possibilities. The server planted fresh pints down in front of each of them.    
  
“Faerie King,” Eren said drily. “That’s a good one.”    
  
“I wish I was kidding, I really, REALLY do,” Jean said, putting both hands securely around his glass before he took a drink. “And I know you think I’m crazy. My whole life has been this way. You don’t have to believe me, but do not accuse me of lying. I simply cannot lie.”    
  
“Whoever Jean is running from, they were real enough for me to witness them and leave tangible evidence…” Armin tried to explain. It defied logic. His grandfather had always warned him about being out in liminal spaces, the between places, between this world and the Other one. Armin had dismissed it all out of hand; an impossibility and local superstition. To his great surprise, Eren shifted gears.    
  
“And what is it you are meant to have done exactly to piss off a Faerie King? Cut down his tree?” Eren eyed Jean over his beer glass.    
  
Jean paused, a smirk creeping on his face as he leaned toward Eren over the table. “I told him the truth. A truth he couldn’t outrun or deny.”    
  
“And that is?” Armin pressed.    
  
“I’m his son,” Jean said simply.    
  
“Oh.” Eren set his beer down, lost in thought for a moment. “Fuck.”    
  
“You’re telling me,” Jean shook his head.    
  
Armin looked between the two of them, an unexpected third wheel to a party he didn’t know was possible. “Can someone please explain? Eren, what do you mean?”    
  
“Isn’t it obvious? The King thinks Jean here is going to try to usurp him.”    
  
“How is that obvious...nothing at all is obvious about this conversation. In fact, how is this something you know a single thing about, Eren?” Armin was not used to being the clueless one in the conversation.    
  
“Ah, because this just got interesting Armin,” Eren grinned. Jean blinked. “Because a certain Faery King owes me a huge favor.” Eren pulled his necklace out from beneath his button up shirt, from which an ornate key hung. Armin had never seen him remove the necklace, and suddenly it seemed a sinister thing.    
  
Jean set his beer down slowly, eyes fixed on the key. “Oh, is that so.”   
  
“That’s so.” 

  
For the first time since Armin had met Jean, he saw a sparkle in his eye. The faintest glimmer of a candle of hope lit from within. It was heartening.    
  
“The question is, Jean, do you want the throne or do you want your life?”    
  
The air stilled around them. Armin felt a sense of electricity in the air, as though the world itself was holding its breath waiting for Jean’s answer. Time slowed, and the raucous sound of the pub around them was distorted and distant.    
Jean’s eyelashes flicked up toward Eren, then his gaze settled on Armin.  The blonde felt warmth stirring in him beneath his searching look. 

 

“That’s the thing, Eren. I haven’t decided yet.” 

 

Eren followed Jean’s gaze to Armin and laughed. “No wonder you’re going spare. You’re proper fucked until you figure that out. You oughtn’t to have said anything to him if you didn’t know.”   
  
“...I don’t always think in the moment…” Jean took a deep swig of lager.    
  
Armin was beginning to stew in his chair, wondering if Eren was putting him on to make a fool of him. He began to wonder if maybe he’d died after all back in the field and this was someone’s twisted idea of his afterlife.  

 

“Neither does Eren. I’m sure you’ll get on fine.” Armin took a drink and shot a warning glance at Eren, who was positively glowing with the prospect of usefulness. Or mischief. He wasn’t sure which, but he didn’t like the idea of playing a joke on a desperate man.    
  
“Oh, if he’s willing to help me out with this he will quickly become my best friend,” Jean sighed.    
  
“And if he doesn’t help you for any reason, he’s in some very deep shit with me,” Armin glared at Eren.    
  
“Agreed.” Eren said. “So, Jean. Tell me everything, or you won’t be staying with us tonight. Can’t have us in the faery crosshairs before we can play our hand.”    
  
“Fair,” Jean said, looking back at Armin. “I said I would tell you, so I will. But Armin?”    
  
The blonde looked at him and waited. “Yeah?”   
  
“I would never lie to you. I can’t lie anyway, but that’s not the reason. You saved my skin tonight. I owe you one...no now don’t tell me it was “nothing” when you don’t know what I’ve got you into…” Armin closed his mouth, ready to protest, and silenced by Jean’s insistence.    
  
“Alright,” Armin was certain his sanity was slipping away from him. “Then explain.” 

  
  
  



End file.
